I should start by explaining that I have identified as Two-Spirit, genderqueer, nonbinary, and trans since I came out twenty-five years ago. A large part of this was shaped by being raised in feminism. I love women. I never hated being one—it just wasn’t who I was. Before I understood that, I was bullied for not conforming to what a woman was “supposed” to be. I tried, but I constantly failed. And to be clear, it was worse than that—I was raped and molested repeatedly as a child for not conforming to gender. As an adult, I have been coerced and forced to have sex more times than I care to admit.
As a child, I enjoyed “boy” games and toys. I ripped the heads off Barbies people mistakenly gave me, attacking them with my war party of army men. I won target-shooting contests. I could gut a fish and climb a tree faster than anyone. I was a boy who grew up to be a man. This became even clearer the day I “became a woman”—when I got my first period. I woke up with sheets soaked in blood and thought I was dying. I knew what a “monthly moon cycle” was. I grew up around feminists, so I understood menstruation. I also knew it wasn’t supposed to happen to me. But then it did. And I literally thought I was dying, as in needing to go to the ER.
I was small for a man but “thick-boned” for a girl. When I had a choice, I wore boys’ clothes. I liked spiders, bugs, and grossing out girls. I hated dresses—at first because I couldn’t play in them, and later because I hated the idea of them. As I got older, I cut my hair short and passed as a guy before HRT. Now, I pass — wearing a face mask without binding my chest. Even so, I still wonder: why couldn’t I just be a girl who looked and acted like a boy? What even is gender?
One of my greatest passions as a kid was reading, and that hasn’t changed. I read everything I could about gender theory and biology. I did research on trans healthcare. For the last fifteen years, I’ve advocated for basic trans healthcare rights in rooms full of doctors, medical providers, and researchers.
Now, the current administration is rolling back our rights—an unconstitutional act masked by executive orders and fear-mongering. It’s intentional. They know these orders will be overturned, but they use them as a distraction from their other shady dealings. They justify this by claiming biology dictates there are only two sexes, ignoring the existence of intersex people. These politicians spout nonsense, revealing their lack of knowledge about biology, genetics, and even basic fact-checking. As someone with a background in biological and medical sciences, I don’t know what offends me more—the misuse of science or the persecution of my very existence.
So Why an X?
I was a boy who grew up to be a man, who happens to inhabit a body that has always been ambiguous but was labeled female. And by traditional gender roles, I am undeniably manly. I don’t care about putting the toilet paper on the roll. I work on my 4×4 stick-shift truck. I repair broken machines. I hate processing feelings. I love women—all kinds of women. I love women with dicks and without. I open doors for people. I’m into survivalism and living off the land. I have a large-breed dog. I could go on, but you get the point.
So if I’m a man, why not just get an “M” on my license? Partly realism. Partly protest.
The realism is that I’ve kept an “F” on my license for years because I’ve never wanted top surgery, and bottom surgery isn’t widely accessible yet. But that hasn’t protected me. At TSA checkpoints, I am always physically searched—an experience indistinguishable from public molestation. If the scanner flags me as male, they grope my breasts. If I ask for a female agent, they make a spectacle out of it. I was once taken to a closed room where a TSA agent molested me for over fifteen minutes. They are supposed to use the back of their hands. They never do.
While I don’t have an intersex designation and wouldn’t try to take up that space, my body has always been gender-ambiguous. I’m lucky to live in a state that allows an “X” gender marker on birth certificates, identification cards, and driver’s licenses. So, the realism is: having an “X” might cause problems, but it is both legal and the most accurate representation of me.
The protest is because, in my culture, Two-Spirit people have existed since before colonization. I refuse to let some Ronald McDonald idiot take that away. This is about basic freedom. The redneck part of me bristles at the idea of anyone telling me how I can identify or what I can do with my body. Maybe it’s because I grew up around Libertarians, but I’ve never understood the urge to dictate over other people’s lives, bodies. This administration isn’t just cutting funding—they’re trying to erase us.
Erasure is something I learned about when I first started researching gender. Reading Judith Butler’s work on performative gender and erasure changed my worldview. Biology gave me an ambiguous body and a predilection for certain behaviors and hobbies. But as an adult, I am my own master. I have the freedom to shape who I am. And that choice—that freedom—is everything.
I want to get on a plane without being molested. I want to go to the ER without being mistreated. I want kids to express themselves freely without fear. I want to be free. And I want everyone else to be free, too.
A long time ago, someone impressed on me that voting is important—even if it feels pointless. Because if we don’t use our rights, how can we complain when they’re taken away? That’s why the “X” on my license is a protest. It honors my Two-Spirit ancestors who fought and died so future generations could survive. It’s for every trans, Two-Spirit, nonbinary, and genderqueer kid being bullied or worse just for existing.
We are real. And when someone is real, it’s a lot harder to deny them their humanity.
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